


A (Somewhat) Concise List of Reasons Why Amy Regrets Ever Dating Dan Egan

by batss



Category: Veep
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batss/pseuds/batss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Also including: reasons why Amy has sex with Dan (again).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A (Somewhat) Concise List of Reasons Why Amy Regrets Ever Dating Dan Egan

**Author's Note:**

> When I started this I planned on writing something short and jokey and without any explicit sex at all. And here we are, a week later. Good lord.

Reasons Amy regrets ever dating Dan Egan:

1)      Her status as Resident Dan Expert. See: whenever someone in the office hasn’t realised that Dan is a sociopath, and turns to her to educate them on why Dan is acting like a sociopath. (The answer is always: because Dan is a sociopath).

2)      Her complete lack of a dating life, the complete lack of privacy she has over her complete lack of a dating life, and how Dan inevitably interprets this as some kind of mourning process.

3)       

  1. The look that Dan gives her when he’s remembering what she looks like naked.
  2. That he doesn’t try to be discrete about it.
  3. That he winks at her when she notices.



4)      Her mother always asks after him.

5)      The fact that they are - by the technical definition of the word but by no way in sentiment - friends.

There is at some point in her internet browser history, amongst endless news sites and blogs, a chain of Google searches she made one lunch break on the definition of the word friend, concluding with a definition she found that mentioned a ‘lack of hostility’ as a key component of friendship. Reason 5 is sometimes removed from the list in reference to this definition, usually in correlation with the frequency of Reason 1.

Reason 5 is reluctantly restored when she finds herself voluntarily spending what little free time she has (see also: Reason 2) with Dan strategizing, debriefing, or getting black-out drunk, depending on the magnitude of whatever fuck up they endured that day.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, a lot of the time Amy doesn’t even hate him. Dan is, on the days when his own self-interest aligns with hers or the VP’s, really good at his job. When he has something to work on, he gets this single-minded efficiency that’s kind of a wonder to behold, and his whole face transforms with eagerness. She watched him order new business cards when his job title changed with such manic self-satisfaction that it had her convinced he was half-hard under his desk.

She even, when she forgets herself, kind of pities him. Sometimes, Dan looks so tense Amy suspects he’s on the verge of vibrating with frustration. It would be funnier if she wasn’t mildly concerned that he was going to stab someone. It’s a professional concern, obviously, because of the overtime she would have to put in dealing with the fallout. They’d also have to find a replacement, and Amy suspects they would probably end up with a guy who’s even more of a prick than Dan. And then Amy would probably end up sleeping with the new guy, because that’s her type, and at least with Dan things are neatly wrapped up in that department.

Well – _mostly_.

 

* * *

 

Reasons Amy has sex with Dan (again):

1)                  It’s a black-out drunk afternoon, after a colossal fuck up of a morning.

2)                  They’re at Dan’s apartment, since there’s not really anywhere the Vice President of the United States of America’s Chief of Staff and Deputy Director of Communications can get black-out drunk on a Monday afternoon. It’s a studio apartment, and his bed is right there, in the middle of the room, like the headstone to the grave of her poor judgement.

3)                  The following series of events:

They each take three swigs of vodka – Dan raising his eyebrows at her over his glass; Amy trying not to grimace – before Amy breaks the silence.

“I haven’t gotten drunk this early in the day since Christmas.”

“Family, huh,” Dan sympathises. Amy had forgotten for a second that he’s met hers. He’s mentioned a brother, but she has no idea what family Dan has. It’s weird to think of Dan as a person with parents, or as someone who was once a child. She pulls a face considering it, but Dan doesn’t notice, having busied himself with refilling their drinks.

“I got pretty hammered with Mike a few weeks ago,” Dan offers. “It was weird. After the fourth drink he started singing old sea shanties until the bartender asked him to leave.”

“And you got drunk with Jonah. Dan Egan, sinking to new lows.”

Dan waves his glass across the kitchen bench at her with a lopsided smile, “And now I’m drinking with you. Just when I thought I couldn’t sink any lower.”

Dan keeps vodka in the freezer, apparently, and has a set of heavy-bottomed round glasses that are rimmed with gold. They’re entirely too classy to be drinking vodka out of on a Monday afternoon.

Amy can feel a flush grow on her cheeks. She’s out of practice with drinking, which comes with the job. Every event they go to, she’s working, both too busy to have time to drink and needing to be sober to address any calamities. She hasn’t gone out to a bar on her personal time in probably six months – reason 2, again. She takes off her jacket and rolls up the sleeves of her blouse, and as she does so Dan follows her cue. He tilts his chin up to undo the top button of his shirt and loosen his tie, and she gets distracted for a second by the line of his jaw and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. He has such pale skin, almost translucent – undoubtedly thanks to a skincare regiment that would put her and most other women to shame – but his skin is peppered with fine brown freckles. She catches herself leaning toward him to look closer and scolds herself. It’s frustrating, how much she’s attracted to Dan, and how unmitigated that is by how much she often loathes him as a person.

He hadn’t noticed, thankfully, busy rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves. He looks artfully dishevelled, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open, tie loose around his neck. If he were to pick up his jacket from the bench and sling it over his shoulder, he’d belong in a photoshoot, and Amy suspects he knows that. He’s probably practised it. She’s noticed Dan has a few deliberate mannerisms, like he’s rehearsed them in the mirror.

“You don’t have a lot of furniture,” Amy says, dragging her eyes from him to cast about his apartment. Apart from the bed, there’s a sofa, a coffee table covered in newspapers and magazines, a laptop, and a TV.

“It makes it easier to move. I was in Ohio before this, remember.”

“Of course. For whenever you find the next woman who you can climb on and over to get another rung up the ladder.”

“Pretty much,” Dan shrugs, before leaning towards her and leering a little. “Jealous?”

Amy snorts. “Of what? The wining and dining where the conversation revolves entirely around who I know? Or the token two minutes of uninspired fingering before you decide that’s good enough?”

“Uninspired?”

She rolls her eyes. “Is that all you got from that?”

“Somehow,” Dan’s gaze sweeps her up and down. “That’s where my brain gets stuck.”

“It’s a marvel that you’re even able to do two things at once,” Amy says. She forces herself to hold her gaze, resisting the urge to touch the back of her neck or fidget, instead clenching the hand that rests on her thigh into a fist. Her other hand grips the glass tightly, but she doesn’t drink. She already feels bright, the tension gone from her shoulders and replaced with a warm, light energy. Her mind seems clear; she’s forgotten the hundred million things she was meant to do today and instead all her attention is on Dan in front of her as he saunters around the bench to stand beside her.

He leans down towards her, supporting himself with an outstretched hand, hip cocked against the bench. She stays seated as she was, facing the bench and holding her glass as much for support as anything else.

“And yet here I am, moving and thinking. Don’t you want to know what I’m thinking about?”

Amy looks at him and rolls her eyes. “No.” Seated like this, she’s more than a head shorter than Dan. She can smell him, and identifies that expensive sandalwood and orange scent as his aftershave.

His free hand reaches for where her hand is still clenched on her thigh. His fingers skim over the back of her hand to curl around her wrist and stroke at her pulse point. “Come on,” Dan murmurs, as they both look at their hands. “I’m feeling inspired.”

 

* * *

 

Amy has kissed Dan exactly four times.

The first time, timidly, tentatively, in the back of a cab outside her place after attending a fundraiser together. The second is minutes later in her kitchen. He cuts her off mid-sentence as she offers him coffee, and it’s messier, open mouths and hot tongues as they undress each other. They pull away to fuck clumsily. He leaves after that, but the next time he sees her he greets her with a kiss on the cheek. It’s the barest of kisses, his hand touching lightly at her hip, his lips brushing her cheek. It took her by surprise and she remembers it clearly. The fourth kiss was days later, after a broken promise or two, in a dark hallway of a bar that she finds him in by chance. Her lipstick leaves a smear across his mouth, and she tells him so when he says his date is waiting for him at the bar.

That was more than a year ago, now.

 

* * *

 

With a gentle tug at her wrist, Dan prompts her to stand. Amy slides off the stool directly into Dan’s personal space. She leans back against the counter, and his body brackets around hers. His hand runs up the back of her thigh, rucking up her skirt. She draws a ragged breath, releases it slowly and looks up at him.

Dan holds her gaze through half-lidded eyes, blinding tugging at the band of her pantyhose. He gets them halfway down her thighs and leans into her further, pushing her legs further apart with a knee. Too close to look at him, she drops her head forward onto his shoulder and feels him rest his cheek against her hair. The weight of him holds her in place, and she’s grateful for it when his fingers trace over her underwear, cupping her crotch. She braces a hand behind her on the counter and spreads the other across his waist. Even through his shirt, she can feel the warmth of his skin.

Dan works his fingers under the band of her underwear, pushing them to one side. He nudges a finger at her folds and they slide easily. Dan makes a low noise, and Amy feels her cheeks flush. The way he smells makes something cold and electric twist inside her. She likes how much taller he is. There's something primal about it; her skin prickles when he looms over her.

He pushes a finger inside her, and when her hand on his waist relaxes, he adds another. She had thought he had slender, manicured hands but his fingers feel broad inside her and there’s a callus on his thumb that, when it catches on her clit, makes her gasp. She remembers blankly that he plays the guitar, and loses the thought the next second as his fingers curl inside her.

“Dan, can we—” Amy says, gesturing toward the bed. Her knees feel weak.

Dan places his hands on her hips, and she feels herself clench at the absence of his fingers. He steps backwards, using his hands to guide her with him, but she stumbles, pantyhose around her knees. Amy reaches to take them off but he stops her with a look, and he guides her back against the bench.

Dropping to his knees, he picks up her feet one at a time to take off her shoes. The graze of his fingers against the soles of her feet tickle, even through her tights, but the way he looks up at her stops her laughter in her throat. His eyelashes are so long. He reaches both hands up her skirt to the top of her thighs before sliding down to the bundle of her pantyhose and dragging them down. He unzips her skirt then, and it pools around her ankles, and he presses his mouth against the inside of her left knee before pulling her underwear down as well. He looks at her for a long moment, pointedly licking his lips, before standing and guiding her to the bed.

Amy shuffles back on the bed and he crawls over her, still fully dressed and wearing a smug, lopsided smile. His index finger plays at her entrance. “You’re so wet, Amy,” he says. “Still think this is uninspired?”

“God, you’re such a shit,” Amy retorts, but there’s no venom in her tone at all. He's barely touched her and she's starting to come apart in his hands.

“If you’re convinced, is there something else you want me to do?” His thumb slides up to circle her clit and she gasps.

“I’m not fucking going to beg you, Dan.”

“As hot as that would be, I don’t expect you to.”

“Then what?”

“Tell me what to do.”

Amy looks at him, blinking twice to try force herself to think clearly. Does he like being bossed around? Is he trying to make her feel more comfortable?

Her head swims, and then settles somewhat. "Watch," Amy says, and Dan obediently draws back to kneel, resting on his heels. She sits up and loosens the sleeves of her blouse, eyes trained on his.

His gaze drops from hers as she unbuttons the shirt, and he stares, mouth just slightly open. Amy can see his tongue. She shrugs the blouse backwards once it's opened and unhooks her bra. Exposed to the air and Dan's stare, her nipples harden.

Amy can see the tension in Dan's shoulders, and the resolute angle of his jaw. She knows he wants to reach out and touch her, and she wants him to, too. But the fact that he won't until she tells him to is thrilling, and she relishes the feeling for a moment.

"Take your clothes off."

Dan undresses quickly, pulling his loosened tie over his head without unknotting it, his fingers moving nimbly over the small buttons of his shirt. He gets off the bed to stand when he takes off his pants, and when he's standing in his boxer briefs and nothing else he looks to her.

"I said, take your clothes off," Amy commands.

He pulls his underwear down his thighs and kicks them away. When they’d had sex, it was in her dark bedroom, both of them half-drunk. They’d undressed each other clumsily, and she’d barely touched him before they were fucking. She looks at him, standing in a pile of their clothes in the middle of the day.

"Touch yourself," Amy says, and Dan's right hand moves quickly, gratefully, to grasp his dick. He squeezes firmly and clears his throat, then takes his hand away to spit in it before wrapping it again around himself. His hand strokes slow and deliberately, and he looks at her, meeting her eyes.

Amy shifts on the bed uncomfortably. She can hear Dan's breathing shudder, and every so often his eyes squeeze tightly shut before he forces them open again to look at her. She finds it impossibly hot, and her skin itches with the desire to be touched, to seek relief.

"Stop."

He does, immediately, and every muscle in his body tightens, his hands clenching.

Amy takes a breath and holds it for a few seconds, suddenly wishing for another swig of vodka. Dan blinks twice and swallows, and they both listen to her exhale shakily.

Amy says, “Kiss me.”

 

* * *

 

Time warps around her, and Amy loses track of it. Some seconds vanish before she even has a chance to register them, and others drag on for long, slow moments. Dan is kneeling over her before she notices him move, his mouth over hers, their bare skin pressed against each other. His tongue slides over hers, and she registers everything at once: his mouth tastes peppery and warm like vodka. His hand cups her face. The tips of his fingers are wound in her hair, and his nails dig into her scalp. His other arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her body up against his as he pushes her back into the mattress. Everything feels desperate; they don’t have time to waste, they should be working. They’ve been working together for how long now, who cares, it could have been like this the whole time. But it can’t be. This is wrong, they shouldn’t –

He bites her lip, she scrabbles at his hips but her legs are wrapped around him still. There’s not enough space between them and there’s too much, all at once. He fumbles with a condom, the latex is slippery when she grabs his cock and guides him to her. It burns as she stretches around him, she pulls him deeper anyway and then falls back against the mattress and holds him there. He’s saying something, but it sounds far away, like descending in a plane, her ears thick with the change in pressure. His knees find footing on the bed and Amy rocks her hips. He thrusts deep inside her, and she arches her back, his mouth on her neck. He pinches her nipple hard.

Her ears pop. “Oh my god, fuck, Amy,” he’s panting. “God, you have to, we, I have to slow down.”

“Don’t you dare.”

His thumb rubs over her clit. It’s so direct it almost hurts, and then his hand covers her breast, the ball of his palm pulling at her nipple. A cord between her tits and clit yanks inside her, and her skin flushes with hot, prickly static. Dan keeps exactly still, and she clenches around him and comes.

She returns to herself unconscious of how much time has passed, lightheaded from holding her breath, forehead sweaty, fingernails dug so deep into Dan’s hips she’s left marks. The glaze in Dan’s eyes is gone and he’s looking at her brightly. His face is so open she can’t look at him, so she pulls him to her instead. He buries his head in her neck and thrusts into her deeply, increasingly erratically, breathing heavily, swearing, saying her name. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and when he comes, he collapses onto her with a sigh. He’s so much bigger than her, and the weight of him crushes against her lungs so she can’t breathe deeply, but Amy likes it. When he remembers himself, he leans on his elbows and they kiss while he softens inside her, all lips this time, pausing to catch their breath every now and then. The natural passing of time returns to her slowly.

He shudders when he pulls out, hypersensitive, and Amy leaves him to go to the bathroom. After she washes her hands she leans against the sink staring at the drain. This is the worst thing she’s done in a long time. She’s still drunk, she can feel it. She can’t drive home, she can’t stay, she’s going to have to taxi home and collect her car on Tuesday morning. But she can’t blame being drunk, Amy knows. This was inevitable, like a countdown clock she couldn’t read.  Now it’s at zero. _Now what?_

 

* * *

 

“I haven’t checked my phone since what, 11am,” Amy says.

“Hm,” Dan says, wiping his mouth and passing the bottle of vodka to her. The glasses are abandoned on the bench. They lie on the bed, sprawled beside each other. The bottle is ice-cold in her hands. She presses it to her face, takes a swig, and then holds it against Dan’s bare chest so his nipples harden with it. He twists away from her with a huff of laughter and surprise, and she leans over to pin him on his stomach. His back is freckled, and she traces a constellation.

They fall asleep before they finish the bottle. It’s too warm and too intimate to touch, but as they lie beside each other the way he curves his body mimics hers.

 

* * *

 

Reasons Amy won’t ever talk about that day ever again:

1)      Between them, there were 11 missed calls and 24 emails flagged urgent, and other than tallying this, locating their clothes, and finding a shit-ton of aspirin, they don’t talk about anything.

2)      It’s easier to pretend the entire thing was a drunken haze and she doesn’t remember any of it.

3)      She remembers all of it – acutely; frequently.

 

* * *

 

The countdown resets.


End file.
